


On the driver's seat

by thebookhunter



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Elevators, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, a bit of a power play, and everything else that comes with it, and fucking, and shakespeare, dirty talking i'm sure, dom!Tom, there are Jaguars, yellow leather goods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cate is a professional. She doesn't get starstruck. She likes to be in control.<br/>Except when she doesn't.</p><p>"“You see, Cate,” he muttered, his mouth now close to her ear, his hot breath on the shell, his voice trickling down her spine, “I want to take you to your room, lift your skirt around your hips, rip your knickers off and fuck you against the wall until you scream my name, and after that, I want to make you come again with my mouth.”</p><p>Her breath shuddered.</p><p>“Say yes” he urged. “Please.”</p><p>She looked at him, wet and hot and bothered and flustered and unable to hide it. She wanted him like she hadn’t wanted anyone since she could remember. If he kissed her again, her resolve would crumble and die. But there was one thing, only one thing that she wanted more than exactly what he was offering: to see that expression of lust and desire on his face grow rather than be satisfied and vanish."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My dear friend Catedevalois had a bit of an idea that she thought worth exploring further. Once I had been made privy to that idea, I knew I wanted to explore it too.
> 
> So this is a present for my friend Catedevalois, and to myself for being such a good girl. Just a bit of fun. I hope you like it.

 

When Cate walked into the meeting room, a pleasant and light space with a good view of the city, Tom and his people were already there. Some of Cate’s colleagues went into these preliminary things surrounded with aids and P.As., an entourage that had no use except that of projecting an image of control and expertise -or just make them look important. Cate did not need anyone for that. She had traveled to London alone, armed simply with the very good job she had done for them. That would suffice to make an impression. Unless she was dealing with amateurs unworthy of her time, which didn’t seem likely.

For Tom it was first contact, but Cate had been researching him extensively, and she believed she had a good idea of who she was dealing with. She was by now very familiar with his background, his career to date, and his looks. She didn’t get starstruck easily -only old Hollywood had that effect on her by now. She had many years of experience in the business after all, and she had met dozens of celebrities, and even dated one or two. She thought she had immunity.

She didn’t have a clue.

 

Although Tom was exquisitely polite from the word go, she sensed resistance immediately. It was Tom’s agents in the US that had insisted on engaging Cate’s consumer research company for advice with the development of his Hollywood career. Cate had predicted that Tom might be wary of such a stilted approach to what was, for him, a matter for spirit and intuition. He was not so naive to think that he could make it big in Hollywood just following his heart, but he was probably expecting a list of recommendations including silly romcoms and more superhero franchises. That was not what Cate’s research had shown, and certainly not her professional opinion. She was known for a deep read of consumer psyche, in this case Tom’s market. She counted on taking him by surprise with the conclusions she had reached. She usually did with all her clients

By the end of the meeting, anyone could tell that Tom was impressed. He had listened closely —and Thomas looking at anyone with his full attention was an intense experience, damn him—, nodding again and again, and he had even taken notes. Cate did feel a most unprofessional plunge in her stomach every time she caught his eye on her.

 

As they all stood up, Cate tidied up her papers and observed Tom out of the corner of her eye, shaking hands with the London’s office Account Director and sharing a few words. Then she saw him smile and make his way to the door, slowing down with every step, until everyone had left him behind. They were now alone in the room.

“Can I help you?” said Cate, with a polite smile.

“You already have” he answered, smiling back.

“You’re welcome. It’s my job.”

With his eyes fixed on her, Cate finished putting her stuff in her briefcase, a delicate pale yellow leather piece with Brogue-style finishings she should admit more than a mere attachment for. He had not moved or said a word. He was still staring at her as if he wanted to dip under her skin. She was starting to feel it under her navel.

“Yes?” she said at last.

“I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me some time.”

She put on a little, barely-there smile.

“We _are_ having dinner” she said. “Tonight at 8. Do you not check your diary?”

He looked surprised. And then disappointed. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind” he said.

Cate put her professional mask on the very unprofessional reaction she was having to that expression of his, combined with his voice and that insinuation.

“I’ll see you later this evening. Mr. Hiddleston” she said, offering her hand for a shake. He took it, slowly, parsimoniously, gave it one firm squeeze, and delayed there, his eyes on hers.

“Tom, please.”

She shook her head in dismay, got her hand back, her briefcase, and fled the place with her pulse rushing madly in her veins.

 

*

 

It was a group dinner.  Cate’s agency often collaborated with a similar organisation in the UK. For this project, they had offered some support with local context and background, and now two of the executive directors wanted to be able to say they had had dinner with Loki. Tom’s people wanted to network with those very influential and well-connected executives. Dinner was going to be a networking, back-rubbing experience all around.

As she showered and prepared for the evening, she found herself spending too much time debating what to wear. She had brought along a dress which was pretty much a translation into evening wear of the kind of thing she wore to work —smart, elegant, classy, but meant to distract, to camouflage the fact that she had curves and she was, well, a woman. Clothes that said “yes, I know, but no, thanks, I’m working.”

However, this evening she found herself turning instead to that dress she had bought for the new production of ‘Lucia de Lammermoor’ at Covent Garden, which she was planning to attend before she returned to the US. Above the knee, one shoulder exposed, beautiful sheer faille, understated but sexy. She took it off the clothes line and held it in front of her facing the full-body mirror. She imagined tilting her neck to the side for Tom to kiss. And she sighed deeper than she had for any man, real or imaginary, in a very, very long time. ‘Cate, Cate, Cate’ she mocked herself. ‘You are getting excited over a business dinner with an actor? A _client_ actor?’ She scolded herself mildly, with a smirk on her face

Damn right she was.

 

*

 

“So, Tom,” said the Account Director, “I hear Shakespeare is next up for you.”

Tom smiled and started talking about his next project. Cate remained quiet, feeling her pulse ramping up and a heatwave run through her body as she watched him, and more than anything _listened_ to him talk about the relevance of the story of Coriolanus and his soldierly purity in the sea of politics, in our day of Occupy movements and grassroots idealism.

“You know I had no idea this play existed” said one of the younger aids.

“I bet Cate did. Cate, you have some sort of degree on Shakespeare, don’t you?” said Michel, with a grin. Michel was the Head of the local agency.  By now an old friend from the industry, they had worked together often enough on projects for media and entertainment clients. Their friendship extended beyond the office, and they visited each other frequently, sharing dinners, theater and wild clubbing nights in New York and in London. Thankfully, they were attracted to completely different men, which came in handy at keeping their friendship under a ‘non-compete’ basis, as they always joked. By now he spoke Cate-ish fluently and she bet he could read her like a book. “What was it, philology?”

“Most people know about my degrees in sociology and business, but I believe you are referring to the only degree that truly enriched my life: English Literature” said Cate, unapologetically, while Tom’s eyes turned to her with an intensity that made her heart jump to her throat. “My dissertation was on Will’s Henry V.”

Tom’s eyes opened wide, while Michel’s grin turned to the smuggest smirk imaginable, which counted as his socially acceptable version of jumping on the table and shouting “Go get it girl!”

“May I ask” said Tom, with guarded eagerness, almost shy, “whether you’ve seen The Hollow Crown?”

 

The dinner went on for a couple more hours, and Cate and Tom talked of nothing but Shakespeare. The rest of the group, as far as she knew, had turned to sports at some point, and Michel was flirting with the waiter. They didn’t shut the joint, but nearly.

During their conversation, Tom was a perfect gentleman in all but his eyes. They kept dipping to Cate’s mouth as she talked, to her breasts, to her legs, to her exposed shoulder. They were only very quick, involuntary flicks, but each and every one of them turned her on just that little bit more, making her deliciously uncomfortable, increasing her pulse heartbeat by heartbeat. To be fair, she wasn’t being any more successful at keeping her eyes on his face, lovely as it was. His neck was too distracting, so long, its reliefs so shapely, this and that other freckle, that dip at the base, his hands so expressive, and his legs, and if she wasn’t a lady she would have asked him at some point to do something with that bulge in his suit between his thighs, which was giving her palpitations. No, Cate was not really in the position to cast the first stone here.

 

“It would be my pleasure to drive you back to your hotel” said Tom as they made their way out of the restaurant —making a point of sounding and appearing nothing but correct, Cate was sure.

She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just that this is not how I expected this day or this night to pan out” explained Tom, now offering a wide, enthusiastic grin. “Excellent company and excellent conversation. I’m loathe to let it end so soon. It’s only half past eleven.”

She smiled quietly. She did not happen upon company and conversation to that standard very often either, and certainly not delivered in such a remarkably appealing, er, package. He was delightful, easily the sexiest man she had ever met. It wasn’t even his pretty face or his lean, elegant body. It was the stares, the voice, the brains. She was overwhelmed by him. But he was a client, and _that_ she did not like. Oh, but he was intoxicating, and seeing him work his way to get her was beyond thrilling. It felt almost like a game, a game of control and tease, seduction and wit, potentially very dangerous, one she should not be playing, because it was her heart at stake, no less. But she was beyond the point of no return, and she knew it when she heard herself saying "Why not? The bar at my hotel is lovely.”

The gorgeous silver F type pulled up right by them and the valet climbed off and handed Tom the keys. Her eyes fluttered at the sight, and she might have just got a little weak at the knees. She very nearly turned to him to snap “that’s cheating”.  She loved cars, almost more than she loved men. Her father was a car enthusiast who taught her everything there is to know about them. She learnt to drive when she was 10. Cars made her feel safe and in control. Better yet, sports cars made her feel sexy.

“Thank you” she choked out as Tom opened the door for her, and she sat down to the feeling of cool, silky leather caressing her back and the underside of her legs, letting out a barely decent sigh. From her seat she looked up to him, still standing by the door, staring down on her from his height. That angle made him look completely in charge. She kept his stare a second too long, as she felt an intimate tingling sensation that almost made her lose her composure. She shuddered. This was going to be a very interesting night

 

“So you like cars” he said, eyes on the road, his movements sharp and self-assured around the cabin.

She smiled with tight lips.

“That obvious?” She said as she sank down on her seat, crossing her legs towards him, giving him full view.

He threw a glance her way. That was no gentleman’s stare.

They drove in silence, the rumble of the city in the background, the rustle of his movements as he drove. She did try her best to enjoy the sight of London from a Jaguar, a pleasure she had not had before, but her eyes kept being drawn to his hand on the gear change, the way he rubbed his thumb on the leather, his relaxed yet perfectly controlled grip of the wheel.

 

When they arrived, he offered his hand to help her out of the car, and his arm to lead her to the hotel bar. Again, the gesture was that of a gentleman, but his eyes, boring fierce into hers, and the vigour of his movements, were not gentlemanly at all, not one bit. She wouldn’t have guessed she would find him and the full scenario so arousing, but she could not hide from the reactions of her own body. This damned man.

“Wait a day for surprises” said Tom as they took a spot by the bar. “I did not expect when I got up this morning to end the day chatting about my favourite thing in the world with such a beautiful woman.”

“To be completely honest with you,” she replied, ignoring the compliment, “the possibility had crossed my mind” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” she explained, “I had done my research after all, and I knew we had that in common.”

“Oh” he smiles, dipping his eyes down to her mouth. “And were you looking forward to it?”

She smiled mildly. “I was intrigued, yes.”

“Just intrigued?”

She grinned. “I don’t usually care for actors. I most certainly don’t care for clients”

“Is that so?”

“In my experience, both like the sound of their own voice much too much, and their favourite subject is themselves.”

Tom’s mouth twisted when he bit the inside of his cheek. He deliberated. “I can’t say that’s altogether unjust.”

She pondered for a second whether to say what she was thinking. “You are different.” Oh, she said it.

Tom smiled, squinting his eyes mischievously. He let the pause stretch. “You know, Cate, this is the first time you have said anything even remotely flirtatious tonight.”

“Really, Tom.”

“Really.”

“Does that hurt your vanity?”

Tom’s smirk grew wider, naughtier. “My vanity is perfectly safe, with the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you.”

She opened her mouth, ready to give him the reply he deserved, but he started to run his eyes over her, from her neck to her ankle, and back again, and whatever she was going to say died on her tongue. She had a vision of him dragging the tip of his finger down the path his eyes had traced, and then up the back of her leg, to the soft, sensitive skin of the back of her knee, up the inside of her thigh, the lower bit of her ass, all the way to…

“I would like to see your room” he purred.

She licked her lips. “I would love to show it to you” she answered. “Another time.”

His not-really-surprised-but-still-disappointed smile was a thing of beauty.

“Hm.” He ran the tip of his finger on the edge of his glass. “Are you really going to play hard to get?”

She smirked. “Don’t tell me it isn’t fun” she said.

He inched closer to her and leaned his body over without making contact. She could feel his heat on her bare shoulder. “What I have in mind for us is a lot more fun” he whispered just by her ear, his hot, moist breath there igniting a line with a direct connection to her core.

She was tremendously tempted. Just having him near was inebriating. If she didn’t like him so much she would give in. And while there was almost nothing she wanted more than being under him on her bed, or even bent on the bar and fucked out of her mind, for that matter, the fact was, she was enjoying whatever it was they were doing too much to stop. They could be so, so good, if only she could bring herself to wait for it, if only he had to work for it harder.

She bit her lip and swallowed, her mind made up. “Good night, Tom Hiddleston” she said with a sigh and a smile.

 

He gave her two steps advantage and then followed her. When she turned her head she found him staring unabashedly at her butt. He lifted his eyes to hers, a smouldering look on them, and brought them down again without shame back to where they were. She shook her head and promised herself that next time she would be the one walking behind and doing the staring.

They waited for the lift. He stole nearer again, hands in his pockets.

Her heart was beating hard and fast in her chest.

“A goodnight kiss?” he said, his eyes intent, almost severe.

She tilted her head back and there was no way on earth she could refuse that mouth. He kissed her deeply, only his lips first, kneading hers firmly, backing her against the near wall. He snaked one hand around her waist and, before she knew it, her hands were around his neck, and his knee was nudging between her thighs. One solitary finger was tracing the clavicle her bare shoulder dress exposed, at the same moment that his tongue slipped inside his mouth. The sound he wrenched out of her was just over a sigh and just below a moan.

“You see, Cate,” he muttered, his mouth now close to her ear, his hot breath on the shell, his voice trickling down her spine, “I want to take you to your room, lift your skirt around your hips, rip your knickers off and fuck you against the wall until you scream my name, and after that, I want to make you come again with my mouth.”

Her breath shuddered.

“Say yes” he urged. “Please.”

She looked at him, wet and hot and bothered and flustered and unable to hide it. She wanted him like she hadn’t wanted anyone since she could remember. If he kissed her again, her resolve would crumble and die. But there was one thing, only one thing that she wanted more than exactly what he was offering: to see that expression of lust and desire on his face grow rather than be satisfied and vanish.

She smiled. “I have this notion, Mr. Hiddleston” she said, her mouth an inch away from his, “that you don’t like what comes easily. Neither do I.”

Tom twisted his mouth in an arrogant smirk.

“I want to see you beg for it, Catherine, and I tend to get what I want” he muttered confidently, a sibilant whisper that went straight to her clit.

“I can’t wait to see you try, Thomas” she replied, as she climbed into the lift.

 

When the doors shut in front of her she rested her forehead on them. That had been either the stupidest or the cleverest thing she had ever done. It was a very, very high bet, but one that could pay off so handsomely, it would make even losing worth it. If nothing else, she had already had more fun with a man than she had in ages. It was a thrill.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is on

She barely slept that night, re-enacting their exchange, thinking about whatever would come next between them. Next day went by in a blur. She was excited. She wanted to see him again, talk to him, kiss him, fuck him. Much to her regret, she had fallen under his spell. Now she found herself wishing, hoping, _craving_ to hear from him.

  
“Soooo, love, is he good in bed?” asked Michel, as they walked into the Paul Hamlyn Hall Champagne Bar at the Royal Opera House. “He just seems like the type who really knows what he’s doing.”

  
Cate pulled a half-smile that had a lot of mischief in it. “Sweetheart, I thought you knew me better” she answered, almost too quickly. “You know I don’t sleep with clients.”

  
“Not even _that_ client?” he teased. “Well, then I must give you an award for self control, or for being the Colonies’ Queen of Idiots. Which one should I have engraved with your name?”

  
They both laughed. She started to recount the events from the previous night, conscious that her summary did not really do them justice, when her phone buzzed with a text alert. Her eyebrows raised and her face lit up in a manner Michel did not fail to notice. He gave her another one of his knowing, smug grins as she read, with a quickened heartbeat.

_‘I had a great time last night and I intend to see you again. Soon. Have fun at Covent Garden tonight. I believe you should thank Michel for giving me your number. Safe travels tomorrow, darling. T.’_

‘You jackass!’ she said out loud, her face betraying the fact that she was far, far from annoyed.

‘Me or him?’ asked Michel, by now laughing unapologetically.

Cate threw him a humorous glare.

‘You’re head over heels for him" he said. "Don’t even bother denying it, I can tell.”

“I wasn’t going to.” She pushed on proudly through the blush on her cheeks.

“And he called the office this morning asking for your number. It’s adorable. Just get a room already. I swear I don’t know what you’re playing at.”

She regarded him fondly and got on her toes to kiss his cheek. They walked into the main auditorium hand in hand.

  
She herself was not so sure either.

*

It had been a few days and not a word. She didn’t know what she was expecting. They lived on opposite shores of the Atlantic, for heaven’s sake. And he had told her he was going straight into intense rehearsals for Coriolanus.

Yet, she was getting antsy. After all, she had made a choice and now she was stuck with it. She was even beginning to come to terms with her loss and willing to write this down as a lovely evening to remember and nothing more.

As she walked into a staff meeting she felt her phone buzz with a text alert. She carelessly slid a finger on the screen to unlock it, and there it was.

_‘Is it thy will thy image should keep open_   
_My heavy eyelids to the weary night?_   
_Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,_   
_While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?’_   
_T._

For a long time she remained speechless, a wide, girlish smirk spreading on her face even as she tightened her lips in an attempt to remain serious, as a tumbling, twirling tempest of butterflies rose in her belly and seemed to swirl, scatter and reform like a cloud of starlings. She had not had a physical reaction of this magnitude over a man since she was a teenager. It was pure joy. She found herself typing, giggling:

_‘Outsourcing your wits, I see. How delightfully clever. Good night to you too. C.’_

She didn’t even hear her name until it was repeated for a third time.

  
“Cate?” called Jensen. “Are you with us?”

  
Cate looked up, glare set to kill. Was that the voice of the bloody _external consultant_ calling her attention? In her fucking office, in her fucking boardroom, no less! Truth was that she had been distracted, which irritated her more than anything or anyone else, but still, who the fuck did he think he was?

  
“Unless your eyes fool you, Jensen” she countered. “Please, do go on” she said, with a perfectly polite tone, and just that slight inflection in her voice to let everyone know that another one of these and heads would be rolling.

  
Jensen cleared his throat and grappled for concentration to try and finish making his point.

  
There were a couple more harrumphs in the room while hierarchy was restored, with her on top, in full control again.

  
And so, so willing to lose it.

*

Another dry spell, no texts, no calls. This whole business was already taking up a lot of mental space. She did hope that they were on the same page on this, but how was she supposed to know what went on in his head? It was hard enough to keep track of what was in her own, what with the flips and tumbles her stomach did whenever his name or his face cropped up.

  
And he seemed to be _everywhere_ , for god’s sake! Of course, her junior aids had been tasked with researching his presence in the media and online, and she was issued weekly reports, complete with press clippings, as for any other client; she generally only checked them when there was enough data to really show tendencies and trends. For Mr. Hiddleston, however, she made an exception, and she was keeping a closer eye. It wasn’t the first exception she was doing for that particular client and, she wagered, it wouldn’t be the last. He smirked at her from dozens of photoshoots, he wrapped her up in sensible, gentle, intelligent words from countless interviews. Of course, with the Coriolanus rehearsals in full swing, Shakespeare took up quite a bit of the conversation. He astounded her with his ability to dip in and out of it in about four sentences and reach considerable depth every time, with astonishing eloquence and efficiency of means. This man’s brain, for heaven’s sake! How it made her heart beat!

  
It was her turn to make a move. She knew it, he was waiting for it.

_‘Checking your press clippings this morning. You must be exhausted. C.’_

She only had to wait a couple of minutes for his response.

_‘Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,_   
_The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;_   
_But then begins a journey in my head,_   
_To work my mind when body’s work’s expired,_

_For then my thoughts, far from where I abide,_   
_Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,_   
_And keeps my drooping eyelids open wide,_   
_Looking on darkness which the blind do see’_   
_T._

The smooth bastard. The sweet, smooth, beautiful, irresistible bastard. He probably intended for her to imagine him lying on his back in bed, in the middle of the night, naked under sheets of linen (why not?), his thoughts wrapped around her, the pale clarity of the screen on his gorgeous, chiseled face, a mischievous grin on his thin lips, that damned, charming dimple. Sweet, smooth, beautiful bastard. And the game was on.

_‘By day my limbs, by night my mind,_   
_For thee, and for myself no quiet find’._   
_Good night. C.’_

 

*

 

She was in bed with a book when she got the next one, the very next evening. She had personalised his tone so she wouldn’t even have to look to know it was him. She told herself it was to save time and bother. Not that she even tried to believe it.

A photo. Oh dear. It was taking a couple of seconds to load, which she spent biting her nail nervously, terrified of what she might see. He could not possibly be that… vulgar, could he? For the love of god, beautiful as it must be, and as much as she was looking forward to seeing it, please, Lord, don’t let it be a photo of his...

  
It was the cabin of the Jag, part of his leg in black jeans, a hand on the wheel, the cuff of a leather jacket, a plastic coffee cup in the holder by his side.

  
(Thank god.)

  
Then another alert, and this.

_'O, learn to read what silent love hath writ._   
_To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit._   
_T.'_

With her heart still racing, partially with excitement, partially with her moment of fright, she took a deep breath. Absently, she stroked a hand down the spine of the book she had in bed with her. Her eyes fell shut. She pictured him in the Jag right now, in those black jeans, with that black leather jacket, the smell of the denim’s black dye, the scent of the leather, his own scent, that aftershave he wore that night, fresh with a hint of spice -it would tingle in her tongue if she ran it on his neck-, and the taste of coffee in his mouth…

  
It was good luck they were a whole ocean apart, because otherwise the game was finished right there and then. This was starting to become unbearable.

She waited some time to reply, hoping her response would find him in bed. She reached for her copy of the Sonnets (it was permanently in her bedside table), and started leafing through it, just skimping from here to there, letting the words dance in her mouth, feeling the pages under her fingers, imagining skin instead of paper, imagining his voice.

_‘For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere_   
_From me far off, with others all too near’_   
_C._

She wondered, if he did not text back, was it because there was somebody else there with him? About ten seconds later, his reply.

_‘Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows_   
_Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes’_   
_T._

  
*

The Coriolanus run had started and the selfies at the stage door with the fans had started to pop up. He looked so kind, so sweet, so... harmless. With a grin to herself, she thought that Tom Hiddleston was anything but harmless.

  
After opening night she arranged for an official, very formal, yet warm congratulatory letter. Glowing reviews for the play were pouring in. She made a small compilation of them in a research brief, and after closing the courier envelope, she added a handwritten note simply saying ‘ _Well done, Tom. You made Will proud. C xx.’_

That night, when she was again lying in bed -and he must have calculated that, damn him-, the text alarm tinked. She bit a smirk. Let us see what you have for us, Thomas, she thought to herself, phone in her hand.

_‘My soul doth tell my body that he may_   
_Triumph in love; flesh stays no father reason;_   
_But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee_   
_As his triumphant prize.’_   
_T._

She gasped. She was speechless, shocked. Which was ridiculous. Not only was she, well, a grown up, and some might even say a woman of the world, but she had read those same lines hundreds of times and was perfectly familiar with them; and each time, she had had no reaction other than the sheer delight at their naughty, playful wit. Now she was flustered, flushed hot, imagining him hard, texting her with one hand, palming himself with the other. Her chest was heaving quick, her pulse thumping hard, and she had very real, very physical hot tingles in her crotch. She crossed her thighs tight around her hand, feeling a deep, hot throb in her cunt.

' _Never did passenger in summer's heat_  
 _More thirst for drink than she for this good turn._  
 _Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;_  
 _She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn'_

_C._

About two minutes later,

_‘Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy ‘Will’,_   
_And ‘Will to boot, and ‘Will’ in overplus;_   
_More than enough am I that vex thee still,_   
_To thy sweet will making addition thus._   
_Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,_   
_Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?’_

Her mouth was gaping, her heart racing, her breath short. She could hear his voice purring the words, she imagined him whispering them right by her ear. She skimmed a hand on her breast, through her clothes, with a shiver. She wondered if he thought about her in bed right now, if he wondered whether she was doing exactly what she was doing. Which was running her hand even lower, over her stomach, and lower still.  
Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to hear his voice reciting those words, and other words besides, right against her ear, and feel her own skin while he did it, and for him to hear it. She was so, so tempted to dial that number and let him tear her to pieces with that voice.

  
But there was a game ongoing, and it was her move.

_‘Come, civil night,_   
_Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,_   
_And learn me how to lose a winning match.’_   
_C._

*

 

Next morning, as she walked in the office, she heard her handbag tink with his personal tone. She checked the text and was thrown off when, instead of some hendecasyllables in consonant rhyme, she found a link to youtube. She clicked it. ‘The Art of Villainy’ it said.

  
Her eyes got wider and wider as the ad progressed, with her heart jumping madly in her chest, her breath all but stopped, her grin broadening until it had hold of her whole face. She was barely keeping it together by the time the clip ended, that last stare boring right into her core, that deep, evil laughter wreaking havoc between her legs. And just then, diabolically well-timed, another text.

_This blessed spot, this warmth, this sinful heaven, this Catherine._   
_All mine._   
_T._

Her knees went weak, and she sunk into her chair, her pulse still running wild, the churning and tumbling in her stomach making it hard to breathe, her cunt clenching with the urgent, painful need to be seen to.

  
What does one reply to that.

_All yours._   
_C._

*

When Pete, her P.A,. came into the office on the next morning, Cate raised an eyebrow seeing there was an envelope marked ‘urgent’ in his hands. Since when did Pete do the mail? He left the envelope on the table with a very slight grin, just a twinkle in his eye betraying his thoughts on the matter. He was a clever boy who would go far.

It was from Tom himself, the address in his own handwriting. It contained plain tickets to London for that same Friday, a hotel reservation for two nights, and a ticket to the Donmar.

So he was bossing her around already.  
She took a deep breath.  
She loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catedevalois is to be credited with authorship for this chapter. She went beyond beta's duty, editor's duty, and right into writer's duty, and this work is one hundred times better for it.  
> This was fun!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Show time

 

He had booked her in the Charlotte Street Hotel in Bloomsbury, which she had told him was her favourite. Whenever she went to London, she never stayed anywhere else. She let herself in the room with a huff. She was rather exhausted. The week had been busier than usual, trying to cram up as many of her missed appointments for Friday as she possibly could in the remaining two days. Yes, a pain and a bother, but she could hardly resent him. She fully trusted that he would make it worth it for her.

If nothing else, she was back in London to see a celebrated production of an excellent play by her favourite author. It was worth a couple of headaches and a few long days, was it not?

She dropped the coat on the back of the sofa —gorgeous room, she had not stayed in it before— and made for the alcove to drop her bag and her dress in its zip cover. And there, on the bed, she found a bouquet of fragrant red roses and a small flat box wrapped in black. Well, well, well. She kicked off her shoes and gave the bed a wide berth while she also got rid of her jacket and scarf. She was stalking the damn thing, she realised. Just open it, woman. The flat box contained… a pair of pale yellow leather driving gloves, with Brogue-style finishings, and custom made, if the lack of any marks inside was anything to go by. Oh, and there was a note:

 

_“You might get lucky this weekend. I might even let you drive._

_T.”_

 

She plopped on the bed, sighing deeply. There was only so much of this stuff she could take, and she was reaching her limits. It was getting out of hand. She was probably already ruined for every other man on earth. She shook her head heavily, the smile spreading on her face something one would seldom expect to find on anyone above twelve. She  picked up her phone and typed:

 

_‘then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.’ Lucky girl I am. I arrived safely. Gloves are beautiful. Thank you. Can’t wait. C_

 

*

 

Brunch with Michel. She caught him up on the recent developments. He was delighted.

“This man must be stopped!” he laughed. And she hadn’t even got to the bloody custom-made gloves yet. “So this is it then. This time you’re here to fuck him, aren’t you?” he said, blunt as always.

She smirked. She might have even blushed. She needed not say more. He laughed heartily.

“I want to hear every detail” he said. "Make me proud."

 

*

 

 

She had the dress laid on the bed, but there was a hell of a lot to be done before she got to that. She wasn’t going to go to the hairdresser or anything of the sort, because she had been sorting herself out since she was fifteen, and by now she was quite adept. After a long, warm shower, she dried her hair without much fuss and put it up in a quick bun that looked a lot more complicated than it was. She wanted to feel confident tonight, and she wanted to feel herself. More than anything, she did not want to have to contend with seven hundred hair pins and a crust of product when the time to let her hair down arrived.

Make-up light, because she was all for enhancing what was there, but she was also of the opinion that a lot of what she didn’t necessarily wish there wouldn’t go, even after smothering it with make-up. So she had lines, marks and (horror!) pores, so what? So had he, and he was all the more attractive for it. She wasn’t about to start freaking out about her looks, not at her wise age, when she had managed to be at peace with them for a few years now.

She had been out shopping for this occasion. She had dashed into her usual boutique for _really special things_ with about half an hour to spare before she absolutely had to make for the airport, she had grabbed Bertha the shop owner, and she had cried out “I have an emergency!”

Twenty-seven and a half minutes later, she was jumping into a taxi, travel bag in toe, and a luxury paper bag with embossed gold lettering in the other hand, containing a _really special thing_ quickly yet delicately wrapped in crinkly tissue leaf. It was black, lacy, silky, semi-transparent in places, and it had about half a dozen components, each cuter and more enticing than the last. She had felt several million dollars in it.

Now she was putting it on with a heady feeling of anticipation. Tiny panties, see-through bra, tights, garters and suspenders, and a silk negligée over it all, with lace inserts so delicate you could read through them. Very appropriate. She checked herself in the mirror, wondering if she had gone too far. Then she thought, well, if push comes to shove, it comes off pretty easily.

The dress sort of went with the topic of lace and sheerness, and it was unbelievably comfortable. She had worn it before, and she just enjoyed its feel on her skin. Nice and flowing, it fell above the knee, and sleeveless as it was, it had wide enough straps that she didn’t have to keep worrying about her underwear showing, which did not embarrass her but did annoy her. With her battle dress on, she felt beautiful and sexy, and ready to face those angry Romans.

The only uncomfortable part of her outfit were those damned high-heeled shoes. But they were so bloody gorgeous, and they made her legs look so good. And anyway, she had had worse. But she was happy she would not be doing a lot of walking or standing up in them this evening.

Oh --all of a sudden she was picturing herself on her back, legs in the air with her heels still on. That’s not what she had been getting at, but oh well. (And the flurry of butterflies in her underbelly at that thought, damn!)

 

Show time.

 

*

 

First half was nerveracking. Second half, heartbreaking. She joined the standing ovation with tears in her eyes. She was deeply moved, affected by the experience, thrilled by a play she had read many times but had never seen live in the theatre.

The whole cast had been superb, and him… Oh, the elation of seeing someone doing the thing they’re best at, the power and presence emanating from his stance, his command of the scene, even when he wasn’t present, his passion, his intensity, his might, his sheer talent. Yes, she had managed to hang on to every word and take pleasure in it, at the same time as she was ravaged by a storm of lust and want the likes of which get named after women in meteorological reports. And she was obviously not the only one licking her lips now and again, worst of all when he had stepped under that shower, when he had donned the semi-transparent linen tunic, and when Caius Martius reunites with his wife. She might have had to shift in her seat, take a deep breath, rest back and think of Shakespeare to get through it. She would absolutely hate to see such a powerful and sublime theatrical experience tainted by frivolity, but goddammit, he had made it quite a challenge.

 

They had agreed to meet in the parking, so that he could greet the fans and disappear without too much hassle. He had told her to wait by the Jag.

She gave herself a good forty minutes before she made her way there, long strides on the London pavements, the bustle of people rushing to their Saturday evening plans, taking in the sounds and even the smells. She even shut her eyes a couple of times, relishing the peace before the... whatever it was she was getting herself into. She felt as dancing on the edge of a dagger. It was a thrill.

 

She had been waiting all of two minutes before she saw him stride purposefully towards her, in a sharp, dark suit, hair still wet from his shower, his stare already boring into hers from ten paces away. The man could swagger. She smirked.

He came to a stop half a step away, towering above her, running his eyes all over her from head to toe, intent.

He closed the distance and pulled her to him, leaning down for a kiss. His scent, the same she remembered, went right to her head. His mouth was forceful and hungered on hers. By the time he pulled away, slowly, staring with intensity, her breathing was shuddery and her body was in flames.

His eyes softened somewhat with a smile that, for Tom in that mood, counted as sweet.

“Finally” he said.

She smiled back. “Finally” she repeated.

“Ready?” he asked.

Hardly. She wouldn't even know where to start.

*

 

 

Conversation in the car and in the restaurant —the City Social, no less— was quick and easy, and she found herself relaxed, laughing, their love of Shakespeare filling every possible silence that might have cropped up. He talked with his hands, smiled with his whole face, and shone with a light of his own. It was unbearable. He had no mercy. It couldn’t possibly be fair that he could be all that he was, and also so much damn fun. Having said that, this ridiculously adorable ball of fluff had a shamelessly naughty twinkle in his eye that kept darting to this and that other part of her body. She never once felt he wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. If anything, she felt his attention doubling up. It made her pulse race wild. It was intoxicating.

“So” she said at some point, finally happy to go down the flirty way, “all that old-boys charm and all that… mischief. Which one are you, really?”

He smirked his villainous smirk, and he fished her leg, hooking her calf with his foot under the table, and grabbed her heel with warm, strong hands. He slowly took her shoe off and brought her foot against his crotch, scorching her with his eyes. He was half hard. She gasped, looking around to see if anyone was watching, arousal piercing her groin.

“Both” he said, his grin and his gaze simply indecent.

They stared at each other for a beat. Her heart was racing. She shifted her foot and pressed down on his cock. His lips parted, his eyes fluttered lightly.

“I would very much like to see your room” he said, repeating the line he had used the first night, daring her now to change her answer.

She grinned. “I would very much like to show it to you.”

He kept daring her with eyes so intent they burned through her.

“Now” she said.

He smirked, found a waiter and gestured for the check. Her foot was still where he had put it while he paid. There was a subtle rose tinge on his neck and cheeks that made him look boyish. But when he turned his eyes to her, now ready to leave, he looked fierce.

 

*

 

They had only been on the Jag for about three minutes when he started stroking the tip of his fingers on her knee, then running longer strokes up her thighs. Hmmm. She relaxed into it. The windows were tinted, but from the inside she could see clearly the streets and the people around her, making her feel exposed, and very, very naughty. The strokes kept getting higher up, and higher and higher… until the skirt stopped him from getting to the prize.

He threw her a scorching, challenging glare.

It was time. Actively give in. Let go. Let him take charge.

_Fuck, yes._

She lifted her skirt just enough for his long, long fingers to reach. His smirk, _god_.

His hand climbed all the way up, brushing softly on her. She shut her eyes, exhaling deep, licking her lips.

He withdrew his hand to change gears. Damn.

His hands on the wheel now, and not coming back. She stared at him, tempting him to carry on where he had left it.

He put his hand on her thigh again. She almost groaned in frustration -yes, admittedly mixed with delight. He was running the back of his fingers up and down, a soft, sensual tickle that was not so much teasing as it was torture. She was panting for more. She made to grab his hand and he pulled it away.

“No. Not allowed.”

She grunted. So she was basically to stay there with her legs splayed waiting at his majesty’s pleasure.

Wait.

She took a second to ponder that.

Alright, maybe she didn’t have a problem with it after all.

His hand climbed up again. This time he went for it, hooking it on her crotch. She whimpered, creaming as he started to press rhythmically.

Hand off, gear change again.

She muttered a curse, feeling deprived, her cunt throbbing deep with the ghost of his touch.

He laughed, that fucking low, mischievous, rasping laughter she could feel in her spine.

And again with the long strokes, deliciously ticklish, sending hot waves up her thighs and bathing her crotch, but much too far away from the place she was desperate to feel him.

“Tom…”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes?” he asked, coyly.

So she was to beg for it, wasn’t she? She wanted to growl. But it was the game and she had agreed to play it.

“Tom, please…”

He laughed, a slow chuckle. “Please, what?”

She shook her head, irritated, aching in need for his hand. He wanted to hear her say it, didn’t he? Damn. “Tom, please… touch me.”

He laughed again, victorious, his face unfairly handsome with delight. She was willing to surrender a lot more than that for that look of smug joy and what it did to his eyes. She was so fucking doomed.

“No” he deadpanned.

She glowered at him, outraged. “ _No?!_ ”

“No. We’re doing it my way. You’re going to touch yourself for me.”

She gaped, half in shock, half choking with arousal.

“Say yes” he commanded.

“Or what?” she challenged.

He smirked without looking at her, relishing her stubbornness. He didn’t need to say a word to make himself clear. It was obviously in her interest to do as she was told tonight. God fucking dammit.

She bit her lip. It was in her nature to be contrary and snarl back when taunted, never relent and never give in. But it was not in her nature to be stupid.

“Yes” she said, her heart racing.

His grin broadened, devilish. She felt it in her cunt. “Give me your hand.”

She did. He took it, bringing it to his lips, and licked her fingers wet—his tongue tickling the sensitive fingertips, doing things to her she could not have foreseen or even imagined—, and returned them to her, darting his eyes once more in her direction. He adjusted the rear view mirror to frame her eyes. She was flushed red.

“Go on. I want to see how you like it.”

Good god almighty, that _voice_.

With her chest heaving and her hands shaking, she lifted her skirt, exposing her carefully chosen underwear, and she spread her legs wide open. He hummed in approval, his eyes in the mirror drilling into her, his breathing quickened.

She dragged the fabric of her panties to the side and touched her clit with the tip of the two middle fingers, slick with his saliva. She was already very, very aroused, and her whole body shook with the first circular movement. Her eyes fell shut and she gasped. She made herself look at him through the mirror as she started flicking her clit a bit harder, a bit faster, in a continuous motion. She was well on her way now. She found the insistence of his eyes on her incredibly arousing.  

“Stop” he commanded.

She obeyed, disconcerted, her jaw slack, her chest heaving.

“Finger yourself.”

His voice was driving her insane.

She obeyed, her cunt wet and clenching instantly with eagerness to be filled. It was a very bad angle of course, but she pushed her hips up to make the best of it. She made herself look at the city rushing by her for an instant. It was the craziest thing she had ever done. She didn’t want to get distracted though. She looked at him again through the mirror, her lids heavy, struggling to keep her eyes open. She clamped around her own fingers and circled her hips, pressing her palm against her clit. She didn’t hold back, allowing herself to moan and whimper with abandon. Whenever she met his eyes on the mirror, fiery, piercing, her heart skipped a beat.

Then his hand was slipping under her palm, his fingers there on her clit, circling in the same motion as she had before.

“Oh my god… oh god…” she panted, her arousal escalating several levels under their combined touch.

She kept thrusting her hips up frantically against his hand, her fingers pushing on her g-spot from within, moaning, desperate to come before he needed to change gears again.

“Ah… oh god Tom… oh my god, ah, Tom…!” she cried out as she came.

When the white sparks had cleared, she found herself shaking and shivering all over, panting hard, her eyes heavy.

Good god.

She licked her lips, now dry.

His tongue peeked out to lick his fingers with obscene relish.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, debauched, flustered. Her skirts were still around her hips. She composed herself, aware of the unnerving smugness on his face. And she noticed just how hard he was.

My turn, she thought. She laid her hand on his gorgeous, long thigh, that tensed and shifted with his movements around the pedals. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. She dragged her nails up and heard him exhaling deeply. Up, up, up, until she ran one finger on his hard cock, finding the tip, stroking it. He let out a small sigh. She pressed firmly and his mouth fell open. He shifted in his seat.

She was largely unfamiliar with the laws of this country, but she wagered what she had in mind was illegal. She took off her security belt and leaned closer to him. She was dying for it. She kissed and nuzzled his neck, so taut and lean, the smell of his aftershave, the dusting of stubble, as she kept kneading on his cock. She could hear his breathing picking up, and his hip lifted up to meet her touch.

Fuck it.

She went for the fly.

“Uh-uh” he said. “You’ll get my cock when I give it to you.”

Again, she was gobsmacked. She was not used to being talked to like that. Her instinctive reaction was to jump to his throat —how very dare you, and who do you think you are, the whole kit and caboodle. On the other hand… Well, on the other hand her whole body responded to this particular man talking to her in that tone with fireworks. She loved it. She wanted more.

So she sat back on her seat and put her belt on again like a good girl —a good girl still hazy from her very naughty orgasm in a moving car in the middle of London— and grinned slightly, already feeling her pulse quickening with anticipation for what was to come. Her hand she left on his strong, long thigh, and indulged herself there, up, down, up, down. That smirk on his face was worth absolutely everything. She did not think she would be able to restrain herself for very long.

Thank heavens, they were almost there.

 

A valet took the car to park it. He let it go without a second look. She took her arm across the hotel lobby and into the lift, his pace rushed, impatient. The second the doors started to close, he had her pinned against the lift’s mirror wall, pushing his hips between her thighs, hands on her arse, lifting her up until her legs were circling his waist, and his mouth on hers with a demanding, forceful kiss. He was hard against her, rutting quick and sharp, his mouth now on her neck. She didn’t know where to put her hands, she was overwhelmed, aroused again, the pressure of his clothed, hard cock on her pure bliss, the very public, utterly shameless stage for their little rump making her head swim with shock at her own boldness, and fogging her brain with need.

 _Ding_!

The lift slowed down and came to a stop, the doors opened silently and sluggishly, with just enough time for Tom to pull back, tidy his clothes and his hair quickly, and clasp his hands in front of his crotch —of course, anyone looking would surely see his erection, because there was hardly enough room in that suit to hide that beauty even when it was soft— but other than that, he looked collected and perfect, if perhaps in a state of remarkably ruddy good health. The ageing couple who climbed into the lift smiled politely at him, but acted skittishly towards Cate. Cate, whose hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed, mouth ravaged with his stubble from the kiss, her dress crumpled at the skirt in the most self-evident way. She had never felt more mortified in her life. Or more alive. She just wanted to burst out laughing.

The lift opened on Cate’s floor. Tom threw a hand around her back and lead her out.

“Good evening” he said to the couple who stayed behind, looking for the world as if he hadn’t broken a plate in his life. The smooth bastard.

The moment they turned the corner and saw that the corridor was deserted, he pushed her against the wall again, but this time he fell to his knees, pushed one of her thighs up onto his shoulder, lifted her skirt, tugged her panties to one side, and started to eat her out right there and then, two fingers slithering inside her, his tongue flicking and circling and lapping, sucking with his lips, then flicking again relentlessly, firmly, as he fingered her, hooking up inside. It was terrifying, outrageous and exhilarating, and she was biting her knuckles not to moan as loud as her body was asking her. She thought she heard someone and started to push him off, but right then she started to come, and she lost all will and just rode her orgasm, groaning low because she could not moan, gasping sharply, shivering all over, biting in her curses and his name as he kept fingering and licking her through it.

He got on his feet, wiping his mouth, again that smug grin that looked so fucking good on him. She wanted to slap it off or just kiss it away. She did neither. She allowed herself to look as satisfied and irked as she felt. He was so maddening, so magnetic, so fucking sexy. For someone used to being in charge of herself and others, as she was, it wasn’t easy to admit that he already owned every bit of her, and that this thought made her heart beat faster and her cunt clench tight.

“Your room?” he said.

She gestured to the right, still breathless.

He offered his arm. “You look a bit faint” he teased.

She did not trust her knees, so she took it, biting the smile that was threatening to take over her face.

His hand at the small of her back kept rubbing circles while she fumbled for the card key. She almost feared he would be pushing her against the wall again the moment they set foot inside, but he didn’t. She had a second to gather herself and get her breath back, put down her clutch, and run her eyes over him, all of him, and lick her lips. What a sight he was. And how well he knew it. He turned to her, on his face that irritating smirk that made her melt with lust.

What now. She was effectively awaiting instructions.

“I believe I’m two down” he said, his raspy voice making her cunt tingle again.

“How do you want me?” she said, willing to accommodate pretty much any demand made of her at this point.

He just took one step to her and stood there in the middle of the room, legs slightly splayed, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets, so goddamned tall and gorgeous, the fucking king of the universe.

“Your mouth” he said, eyes scorching hot on her.

She swung her hips as he approached him. She wondered if… she got close enough and yes, he grabbed her waist, pulled her near and kissed her heatedly, his tongue playful, his lips firm. It was one hell of a good kiss. Heat flared up inside her.

After he released her, she sank slowly to her knees, running her hands down his never-ending legs. She went for the button.

“No.”

She sought his eyes. Hm.

She unzipped his fly. To that he didn’t say a thing, just his eyes looking down on her from his height. She cupped his balls through his clothes and tugged at them gently. His mouth parted, his eyes became glazed. She pulled his hard cock out through the fly, and with her eyes fixed on his, she ran her tongue along the underside of the shaft, all the way to the tip, with a sharp flick. He gasped. Holding his cock with one hand, she brushed her lips and then her tongue side to side ever so lightly on the frenulum, while with her other hand she went for his tight, firm ass. When she had had her fill of teasing, she sucked the head, still flicking her tongue firmly on the frenulum inside the seal of her lips. His hips snapped, his fingers threaded in her hair, on the back of her head.

“Ah, Cate…” he sighed. “Yes, that’s it” he said, as she continued to suck him and slowly run her wetted fist up and down the shaft. “Ah. I’ve wanted you like this since the day we met. That bloody clever little mouth of yours.”

His hips were thrusting shallowly, never enough to be uncomfortable for her, just enough to make her mouth water, quite literally. The salt of the spurts of pre-come kept hitting her tongue every now and then. She had both her hands on his arse now and she was bobbing her head back and forth, tightening her lips around his cock and hollowing her cheeks around it, always playing with her tongue. She liked his smell, the feel of his heavy, thick cock on her tongue. How she wanted him inside her.

His hands wove strongly in her hair, keeping her still as he thrusted in and out the wet ring of her lips. She wanted to touch herself. She shifted so that she was sitting on her heel, the pressure on her crotch enough to make her moan around his cock.

He chose this precise instant to push her off and pull her up to her feet, his movements just above decisive and just under rough. His eyes were hard, glazed, dark. He crowded her with his height and backed her up, she couldn’t see where he was pushing her to. Her legs hit the table. It was all so quick from there. She spun her around and bent her over. She heard him ripping the packet of the condom. She drew in a sharp breath of anticipation. He lifted her skirt, kicked her legs apart, pulled her panties down to below her ass with one forceful tug, took himself in hand and thrusted in. She inhaled again, too overwhelmed to think, clinging onto the table like a drowning woman.

He pulled out completely, and played with the tip of his cock right on the outermost part of her cunt, teasing, taunting. He rubbed the head on her clit, making her whimper. And he still wasn’t fucking her. And she was going insane.

“Tom…” she moaned, desperate.

He kept playing, only his head in, circling, tormenting. She could hear his breath shuddering with the effort of reigning himself in.

“Tom, please…”

“Please what” he said, ruthless, his voice breathy, but still in control.

“Tom, please…” She bit her lip. “Fuck me. Please. Fuck me.” She was begging, no less. At this point she just didn’t care. All she wanted was…

He fucked in, deep and hard, pushing, pushing, her knuckles white on the sides of the table.

“Oh my god” she whimpered.

He pulled completely out, and back in deep and hard.

Her knees were giving.

“Give me your hands” he said, sheathed inside her, his voice so polite and well-bred, his tone almost gentle, the resolve behind it nothing but filthy.

She released the sides of the table and crossed her wrists around the small of her back. She felt his hand on them. She swallowed thickly, her chest and stomach squashed heavily against the table now, without the support of her arms.

“Ready?” he asked, with a firm grip of her wrists.

All she could do was nod, her throat was choked with want.

He started fucking her deep and hard and fast, again and again, snapping his hips, the teeth of the zip biting cold against her ass, the side of the table digging in the flesh of her thighs. She turned her head as much as she could to watch him as he fucked her. His jaw was slack, his eyes hooded, but his glare when it found hers was intent and keen. She was losing foot. Her whole body was shaking under his thrusts. She had absolutely no control over it.

He let go of her wrists to take hold of both his hips and fuck her harder. She heard herself moan like a cat in heat, and left her hands right where he had put them. Every thrust resonated in her whole body, she could swear she could feel his cock hitting her navel. She could hear him now too, moaning, gasping, panting, and it was completely inebriating. He was fucking her frantically now, chasing his own pleasure and nothing else, and she felt for a second like an object for his use, and for that second it was liberating and overwhelmingly hot.

His fucking was crushing her crotch against the side of the table. It was bordering on painful, but in a maddening, jaggedly way, it was pushing her orgasm forth. His thrusts were frenzied now, and she kept pushing down and rubbing herself as much as she could, seeking her own orgasm. They were moaning together and it was fucking beautiful. He altered the angle somewhat and now both their weights combined were falling rhythmically on her clit. A few more hits and she was coming, crying out as he kept fucking her, seeing white. Then his moans turned ragged and breathy, and she wished she could feel the hot spurts of his come inside her. Short, sharp gasps punctuated his last thrusts.

They were still, breathing hard and heavy, mind fogged up with satisfaction.

After a good couple of minutes, he pulled out, but kept her close to him, kissing her back, touching her hair.  He finally stood up, sorted himself out, and with one last slow, hot kiss to the back of her neck, he gracefully took a seat on the sofa, crossing his long, long legs, not a care in the world.

She slowly brought herself to standing, legs shaky, her breathing still heavy, head still floating in a post-orgasmic daze. She turned towards him. He had loosened his tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt. His face and neck was flushed, and he was fucking glowing. He looked ravishing. For the love of god, Cate, you want him again _already_?

They locked eyes for an instant.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“Satisfaction is not in my nature” she teased, making him laugh.

Then his stare turned darker. “Take off your dress” he said, eyes blazing. “Keep the rest on.”

She reached around her back to unzip. When it was open, she just let it drop and stepped out of it, still on her heels. He ran his eyes appreciatively all over her, clad in her black, lacy, semi-transparent silk special thing.

“Come here” he said.

She walked over and stared down at him, for once from a position of vantage. His throat looked delicious thrown back like that. He hooked his hand around the back of her thigh, just below her arse, and pulled her close, eyes fixed on hers.

Then he started to slip her panties down. She shifted slightly to help him. They fell to her ankles and she toed them off. His hand climbed up the inside of her thigh, his eyes never leaving hers, and settled right on her crotch, with some pressure. Her eyes fluttered. She could feel the heat flowing back to her cunt.

With a forceful tug, he pulled her to his lap, one hand sliding under her negligée to get a strong handful of her arse, the other raking up her back, pushing her towards him for a kiss. She melted into it, his mouth demanding, wolfish, and gave as much as she got, hands around his glorious neck, running up the nape of his head, his hair cut short so lovely to the touch there. She sought his neck with her mouth, kissing and sucking, while his hand stroked her breasts through the silk, a thumb on her hardening nipples, making her whimper. He maneuvered her to where he wanted her, and slithered his hand under the light fabric to pull down the cups of her bra. Then his mouth was there, hot and eager, on her nipples, lapping, licking, sucking, biting. She clawed her hands in his hair, moaning. He had her ready to go again. It was insane.

He dragged the negligee over her head and let it drop to one side, then her bra. She had never felt sexier in her life. With his mouth on her nipple, he ran his hand between her thighs again, seeking her slit. When he entered her, she felt herself shiver and clamp around him. He prodded and pushed with his fingers, just enough to tease. He kissed her again, a hand on the back of her neck, fingers raking her scalp. It had to be physically impossible to come again just from that, certainly not after three fucking orgasms in less than two hours, surely. Well, right now she felt perfectly capable to challenge whatever science they threw at her.

But then he withdrew his hand and started to stand up, lifting her bodily in his arms. She held in a shriek, because that was actually a lot more scary and a lot less romantic than it looked in the movies. She was simply terrified he would drop her.

“Don’t you trust me, Cate?” he whispered.

Their eyes locked, and she held on tight to his neck.

He did drop her. Onto the bed. She fell, as boneless as a rag doll. She saw herself in her mind, sprawled on the mattress, only tights, garters, suspenders and high heels now, and she thought she looked pretty damned good, and felt even better.

He took off his tie, slowly, and twisted it in his hands, his eyes on fire always on hers. She gasped. Whatever he had in mind, yes, fucking yes, a thousand times yes.

He let the tie fall on the bed and she was nearly disappointed. But then he started to shed his clothes, and that was another story altogether. She watched propped on her elbows, gaze fevered with desire, as his torso and arms appeared, then his legs, then all of him, half-fucking-hard again, absolutely glorious, his body stronger and broader due to the physical demands of the part.

And he picked up the tie again.

Good lord.

He crouched above her, straddling her body.

“May I?” he asked.

She nodded. Whatever, yes, whatever he wanted. She felt her whole body had turned into a bag of nerves all connected to her clit, and her brain was fogged up with lust.

“Lift your arms over your head.”

She obeyed. He tied her wrists to the metal bar across the headboard, not too tight. She could probably free herself if she tried. Not that she wanted to. She felt beautifully exposed and helpless under his piercing stare, running up and down her body. Her heart was beating so hard she could see her breasts wobble, her chest heaved with her breathing.

“Cate, Cate, Cate… What shall I do with you?” he said, as if talking to himself.

“Hmmm…” she hummed. And she bit a smirk. She guessed she wasn’t really allowed but… Damn it, she couldn’t help herself. “Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.”

He laughed, breaking character for an instant, and absolutely irresistible. It wasn’t just her cunt clenching this time.

Then he licked his lips and stared at her, severe again. With a hard yet always playful expression, he ran his hands over her neck, a slight brush over her sensitive armpits, down the sides of her body, to her hips, and shuffled down the bed to stroke her thighs, then back again up the sensitive skin of the inside of her legs. She was squirming and gasping under his touch, her skin avid, burning. He leaned close to explore her with his mouth. Her lips first, then her ear, under her jaw, her throat next, her breasts. He took his time there when her back started to arch and he had her whole body squirming under his touch. His weight had her pinned down but she could not stop writhing and shivering. He opened her legs to capture his hips and rutted against his growing erection.

“Do I have to tie your ankles too?” he asked then, lifting his mouth from her nipple. His eyes, damn!

He wriggled out of the hold of her legs and carried his journey south, tongue cool down her side, nose nuzzling playfully on her underbelly, hot breath and his stubble on her groin. He fixed his eyes on her from down there. She breathed in sharply in anticipation. He parted her lips with his long fingers and dragged his tongue quickly on her clit. She jolted up. Another flick. How his eyes burned when she jerked and gasped. He teased her like that for a while, just quick, unexpected touches, never enough. Her heart was thumping hard, and she was feeling the tug of the tie around her wrists. She was holding onto it fast, shivering, as Tom kept tormenting her with his tongue. When he started to lick her with a regular rhythm she was almost too close to think. She was moaning loudly, begging, whimpering, pushing her hips up for more. More than anything, what she wanted now was…

“Ah, Tom, I want your cock, fuck me please, fuck me.” She heard herself, her breathy voice, her wanton, desperate tone. She didn’t recognise herself.

He assessed her sternly, and apparently he decided that he was in a giving mood today. He stood on his knees, magnificent, fully hard now, gorgeous. He reached for his jacket for another condom, and she could not lift her eyes from his long, nimble fingers as he tore the packet open and unfurled the condom on himself. With a gesture of his head he had her lifting her hips for him. He slid a pillow under her ass, and towered above her, domineering, ravenous. He rubbed his cock on her clit to begin with, almost too much when she was so sensitive, but so, so good, and so fucking hot.

She licked her dry, chapped lips and tightened her fists around her bonds. She was at his mercy. He waited for her to be focused on him to penetrate her, hands on her hips, in one hard, quick thrust that made her moan and see stars.

He started ramming into her, deep and slow at first, as she was dragged up and down the mattress under his weight and drive, completely given over to him. He increased the pace, snapping his hips hard, and she heard herself moan low and loud above the wet slap of their bodies. He leaned over her, one arm holding onto the headboard, the other palm propped on the bed at her side, and really started to fuck her.

“Oh my god… oh god…” was all she could say.

His hand strayed a moment to touch her arched neck, then back to the headboard.

This was taking quite a lot out of him. She could hear him panting hard, that ferocious, almost angry expression so much like that he had worn on stage, she thought she would fucking faint with lust. She was pushing her hips to meet his thrusts, her muscles starting to ache, because he seemed to be making it last. As for her, if he so much as whispered on her clit she would come like a rocket. He looked so fucking gorgeous, undone with pleasure. Of course she couldn’t touch herself, but she was aching so badly for release.

He heard him groan low, a long exhale, a hard shove, another, and he was still, panting hard, shivering with his aftershocks, impossibly beautiful, calling her name like a mantra.

But she still hadn’t come. For a second she feared he would deny her, but apparently there is a place where the game ends and the gentleman starts. He plunged for her clit with his mouth again, this time not teasing and not holding back, three fingers shoving fast inside her cunt, and in less than ten seconds she was crying out, her orgasm gripping her tight, white hot and deep.

She laid there, trying to recover her breath, eyes dozy, as thoroughly well fucked as possible, her whole body trembling with it.

He shuffled up the bed and untied her. She rubbed her wrists.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, sincerely concerned.

She shook her head no. She just wanted to massage away the indentation the knot had left.

He plopped at her side, facing the ceiling, every sharp angle of his face in stark relief thanks to the partially illuminated darkness in the room, his magnificent chest heaving, so fucking long next to her.

She was pretty much speechless. Or to be more specific, at this point she feared that she would say something embarrassing if she tried to speak at all. Because right now there wasn’t any part of her that wasn’t devotedly, passionately his. Perhaps it was obvious, but she just preferred to keep that to herself for the time being. Who would blame her.

“Satisfied now?” he purred.

She laughed and then hummed. “Oh, I don’t know.”

He rubbed his hands on his face. “Darling, are you trying to kill me?”

She laughed again. The adorable ball of fluff was back. “Oh no” she said. “I just remember someone promised I would get to drive the Jag.”

He squinted at her, with a little grin, more in his eyes than on his lips. “I promised no such thing” he teased.

“Oh” she pouted.

“But you might” he said. “If you’re a good girl.”

Now it was her turn to purr. “Do I need to beg?”

“Hm” he grinned. “How about you do the bossing around next time?”

She chuckled and gave it a full two and a half seconds thought.

“I can do that.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun.
> 
> Oh, I'm perfectly aware that the car sequence is pretty much impossible in a place like London. It was pure fantasy. Just roll with it ;o)


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